


Cough On Everything You Own

by EdgarAllenPoet



Series: Kinktober2018 [2]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Doctor Kink, Fainting into your arms trope, House's leg still works, Kinktober, M/M, Medical Kink, Medical School, Mild descriptions of sickness, and they were ROOMMATES, oh my god they were roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-10-07
Packaged: 2019-07-27 09:44:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16216466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EdgarAllenPoet/pseuds/EdgarAllenPoet
Summary: "Chase was pathetic and overwhelmed and his roommate was playing piano at 10:34pm."





	Cough On Everything You Own

**Author's Note:**

> One of these days I'll write an actual kink for kinktober. There will be real sex, not just roommate pining. No, I don't want to talk about what this means psychologically. 
> 
> Also, yes, I said I'd be writing mostly femslash, but Come ON. Medical kink??? That had to be House. I've always wanted to write House fanfic. Get off my dick.

Chase didn’t have to have a roommate.  In fact, his father had been very clear in his desires for Chase not to have a roommate.  He said it would be too distracting, that it would take away from Chase’s studies. Why did he need a roommate if his father could pay the rent on a private apartment?  The presence of another person would only distract Chase. 

 

He would be expected to spend all of his time studying (which he was anyways, but still), and he didn’t need another person to do that.

 

Chase took on a roommate for the pure reason of spiting his father.  In the end, it seemed, maybe his father was right. Not because Chase was unfocused, but because his roommate was the most annoying person Chase had ever met. 

 

Chase believed in going to class.  He believed in study schedules and hard work and common manners. Gregory House believed in nothing and would happily tell you that with the tact of a grapefruit. 

 

He didn’t go to class regularly.  He didn’t attend any study sessions, and the days he was assigned notary he somehow got his work up and published within thirty minutes of the end of lectures.  It was impressive and sickening. Chase wished he could put that little effort into  _ anything _ , but he knew what his father would say about that, and he inherited his father’s nerves and all-business attitude.

 

He’d been a little too carefree in college, and he’d been way too carefree in high school. His father was sure that Chase couldn’t actually make it through this med school thing- couldn’t make him proud.  Well Chase wasn’t doing this anymore to make his father proud. He was doing it to prove him wrong.

 

That’s what he reminded himself on nights like tonight, when he was in the midst of a cold from Hell and was drowning in the lectures he’d missed and readings that were flying past him. 

 

On Sunday night he’d taken a sleeping pill to knock himself out through the congestion.  On Monday he woke up around 3pm with a head full of cotton and lava, and after a useless evening of staring blankly at his notes while Law and Order played quietly on the TV, he decided it would be best to take Tuesday off to catch up. He’d feel better, he was sure of it. 

 

Rinse and repeat. 

 

It was Thursday night and Chase was drowning- in his school work as well as his own snot. Rhinorrhea, he reminded himself, scrubbing at his nose and mentally high fiving himself for his first medical thought of the week. 

 

God he was pathetic. 

 

Chase was pathetic and overwhelmed and his roommate was playing piano at 10:34pm. 

 

He gritted his teeth and slammed his laptop closed, sliding it forlornly away from his on the bed and peeling himself up. His vision swam as he stood up too quickly, black dots dancing at the edge of his vision.  He needed to drink some water, or eat something, but his stomach tossed at the thought and his throat was on fire. Not going to happen. 

 

You know what else wasn’t going to happen?  Studying. Not tonight. Not if House kept banging away at that stupid piano and Chase’s head kept threatening to split open.

 

His gym shorts stuck to the backs of his legs with sweat as he stumbled across his room and into the living room, where House was sitting on the floor, fingers finding their way over the keys, a far away look on his face. 

 

Chase sagged against the wall in the mouth of the room and cleared his throat, trying to make a statement. His voice broke halfway through, and it turned into a coughing fit that was violent enough to have him doubling over and stomach bile rising in his throat.  He swallowed it back, eyes stinging, abdomen muscles aching with the effort it took to keep himself from crumpling to the floor.

 

“You look like shit,” House said from the floor, fingers still sprinkling notes through the air.  The song changed to something slow paced and gentle. Blood rushed in Chase’s ears loud enough to block out the sound.  “Put on a face mask, would you? And spray some Lysol while you’re at it. I’d rather not come down with whatever plague you’re spreading.” 

 

“The plague doesn’t exist anymore,” Chase croaked. 

 

“But it will.  There’s people who don’t vaccinate.  We’re all in danger.” 

 

“You’re delusional.”  Chase propped himself up on the wall again and felt sweat roll down his ribs from under his arms. Gross.  His eyes burned and he had to close them for a minute. 

 

“At least I’m not diseased,” House snapped.  Chase took a shaky breath, felt glass tear in his throat.  Oh God, what if he’d caught strep? He had to roll his jaw to get his ears to pop, and House stared at him blankly fora long moment before repeating whatever Chase had missed.  “You haven’t been to class this week,” he said. Chase sighed. He tried to set his jaw instead of letting his shoulders fall and somehow accomplished both in what had to be a confusing display of body language. 

 

“How would you know?” he asked.  “You never go to class.” 

 

“No,” House agreed. “But I know when  _ you _ go to class.”

 

“You keep tabs on me?” he snapped.  

 

House raised an eyebrow. “Somebody has too, if your daddy’s not here to ride your ass.”

 

“That’s weird,” Chase grumbled. 

 

“And you’re a pervert.  Go to bed. Get out so I can sanitize.” 

 

Bed.  Bed sounded excellent, and that reminded him why he was here in the first place.  “Only if you stop playing piano,” he said, and he could practically feel House glaring at him through his own closed eyelids.  

 

“You’ve got to be kidding me.” 

 

“I’m not.  It’s annoying, and it’s late. Put it away.”

 

“And what are you going to do if I don’t?” 

 

_ Cough on everything you own, _ Chase thought.  He opened his mouth to speak, pushed off the wall so he could walk further into the room and collapse onto the couch (because he needed to continue this argument, but he wasn’t confident in his ability to do so while standing up for much longer).  Just one step in, though, he felt a wall of static slam into him. His head spun and he thought for a frightening moment that he was going to hurl right there on the carpet until he felt his knees give out underneath him. 

 

“God damn it!” he heard House hiss.  He waited to hit the floor, waited for it to hurt, but then he found himself sagging against something warm and sturdy, felt hands grabbing at his sides and hauling him back up. 

 

“You’re going back to bed,” he ordered, but Chase couldn’t figure out how to get his feet to listen to his brain anymore.  He tilted his head onto House’s shoulder instead, and  _ wow _ his hoodie was  _ soft, _ Chase was going to have to find out what fabric softener he used.  He pressed his face against it, found cool skin against his forehead and pressed even closer, totally numb to the fact that he was burrowing his face in his asshole roommate’s neck. 

 

“Chase,” House snapped, shaking him slightly.  “Robert. Chase. Robert John Chase, I will drop you on the floor.” 

 

“Y’know ma middle name…?” Chase asked, tongue clumsy in his mouth. “How?”

 

“Read your credit card statement,” House said, gripping under Chase’s armpits and hauling him up better.  Chase slung an arm over his shoulder and held on. 

 

“Tha’s a federal crime…” 

 

“I don’t give a shit. Are you- oh God damn it.”  

 

“Don’t say tha’,” Chase complained.  “He already damned me. This m’punishment for leaving the seminary.” 

 

“Your religion is a fetish.” He felt House shift against him, stooping down, and then something was knocking his legs out from under him and he was hauled into the air.  He knew House was strong, since he ran marathons for fun and drank those horrible green protein smoothies, but he didn’t think he was strong enough to lift him effortlessly.

 

He was, though, because he didn’t falter at all as he carried Chase gently to his room and laid him down on his bed.  “Put this in your mouth,” House ordered, holding out a thermometer. Chase opened his mouth to make a comment about the innuendo, but as soon as his lips were parted there was a thermometer under his tongue and an order to hold still.  

Chase huffed and burrowed down into his pillow, embarrassment hitting him as he realized he’d literally just collapsed into his roommate’s arms. He closed his eyes for just a second, and then the thermometer was beeping and waking him up again. 

House plucked it out of his mouth with a tut and frowned at it before dropping it onto the bedside table.  “One-oh-one,” he reported. “Give me your symptoms.” 

 

There was no point in being difficult about it.  They were both medical students, after all. Might as well play doctor on each other.  

 

“Congestion,” he said, “Headache. Fatigue.  I feel hot everywhere, and my throat’s been sliced open.” 

 

“You’re disgusting,” House said, exhibiting the worst bedside manner every.  Chase groaned. House rolled his eyes and said, “Stay here,” before disappearing from the room.  Chase fished around for his phone while he was gone, found it under his bed with 4% charge and plugged it back in with a sigh.  

 

House came back in holding a bottle of something yellow and goopy.  Chase wrinkled his nose at it, then rolled onto his stomach and buried his head in his pillow.  

 

“Roll over,” House said. 

 

“No.”  If House was a friendlier doctor (or a less horrible roommate) Chase would have been more cooperative.  But House sucked, and Chase was sick and miserable and not about to stick whatever  _ that _ was in his mouth.

 

“Roll over,” House repeated.  Chase growled. 

 

“No.” 

 

Something heavy thwapped him though the blankets, and Chase was surprised enough to pick his head up.  He looked over his shoulder at House with his mouth hanging open. “Did you just  _ spank _ me?” 

 

House’s hand clamped onto his shoulder and yanked him back over, slamming him onto his back with surprising force. “I said  _ roll over _ ,” he ordered, and Chase swallowed his tongue. 

 

“This will help your throat,” he explained, pouring a cap full and holding it up.  “Open wide.” 

 

“No way,” Chase shot back.  “Where did you even get that?” 

 

“Had strep a month ago.  It’s not expired. Open wide.” 

 

Chase glared at him, realization dawning. “ _ You _ did this to me!” 

 

House rolled his eyes.  “Are you  _ always  _ this impossible? It’s medicine, not poison.  Just cooperate.”

 

“Make me,” Chase spat back, then squawked when House climbed onto the bed and sat directly on top of him.  “Hey!” he shouted, kicking and trying to push House away as the older man swung a leg over him and sat down heavily on Chase’s hips. 

 

“Now open your Goddamn mouth.”  Chase shook his head, and then House’s hand was clapping down over his nose, gross and hot and making Chase’s eyes water from the force of it.  He tried to breathe, coughed, and opened his mouth to gasp in air, and that’s when House poured the medicine in his mouth. 

 

He clapped his hand over Chase’s mouth next, other hand leaving his nose and massaging his throat, practically  _ forcing _ him to swallow, like giving medicine to a dog. Chase choked on the medicine, coughed, and ended up swallowing it. It tasted like chalk and eggs and it coated his throat on the way down, sending a wave of relief through him.  

 

He gasped again when House pulled his hands away, and then collapsed back against the mattress.  There were tears stinging in his eyes. He glared up at House.

 

“Good boy,” House said sardonically, patting him on the head and climbing off of him.  “Take some Nyquil, pass the fuck out.” 

 

“Fuck you,” Chase said, struggling to sit up and taking the Niquill House offered him like a shot.  It tasted gross. He felt gross. 

 

“We’ll go over the notes you missed tomorrow,” he said, picking up the bottles and dropping them off on the dresser.  “Don’t get out of bed unless you have to piss. I’m not scraping your ass off the floor because you got dizzy and decided to sleep in the hallway.” 

 

Let the record state that Chase hated his roommate.  Let the record also state that despite this, he was having a very interesting reaction in the pit of his gut to House ordering him around. A smart man would have ignored it. 

 

Instead, Chase said, “Sleep here and keep an eye on me if you’re so worried about it.” 

 

He bit on his tongue, regretting the words immediately after he said them.  House raised an eyebrow. Chase stared him down. 

 

“Fine,” House said.  He crossed the room, moved Chase’s laptop to the desk, and flopped down on the bed next to him.  “I don’t cuddle, so don’t even try. And if you get me sick, I’m going to hurt you.” 

 

“That’s kinky,” Chase said around a yawn, pulling his covers up to his chest and settling in, exhaustion tugging at his eyelids.  House rolled his eyes again, grabbed the remote, and flipped through the channels. They settled on some overdramatic medical show and watched in companionable silence until Chase’s medicine kicked in and he dropped back into sleep.

 

\---

  
  


He woke up the next morning to the TV still playing.  On screen Dr. Phil was trying to teach a father how to talk to his rebellious teenage son, and the audience clapped politely while pretending they weren’t all tempted to smack the kid.  

 

Chase blinked blearily down at the arm draped over his waist, warm and heavy, hand tucked in under his ribs. He could only breathe through half his nose.  His throat was sore again. There was something hard and prominent poking him directly in the left asscheek, and his own dick was awake and throbbing between his legs. 

 

He’d just woken up from a strange dream about House in a sexy nurse costume from Halloween City.  Ryan Reynolds had been there too. Chase had some questions for his subconscious. 

 


End file.
